Convenience of Marriage

"No one else here knows what you're capable of but I do, Sabine Vale."

Cecelia didn't flinch.

Not when he said the name. Not when he stepped closer. Not when the night drift seemed to thicken around them like smoke.

"Sabine Vale?" she echoed, lightly, like she was testing the taste of it. "That's quite a nice name but...sounds like the kind of woman who dies halfway through the second act."

Soren laughed. Loud enough that she glanced toward the balcony doors in case someone heard. But his amusement was anything but real.

"Do you really think you could fool me with a new name and a better wardrobe?" His voice dipped into something colder, more cutting. "You could've dyed your hair, got plastic surgery to look like a man named Robert, burned every file, disappeared into the sea, and I still would've known."

He stepped closer again. This time, she didn't move away. Her posture remained perfect. Her face still unreadable.

"But you didn't run far enough, did you?" he said, voice sharp now. "You left. You disappeared. And you thought I wouldn't come looking. That I'd forget."

His eyes bore into her. He looked at her with the kind of gaze that knew her well enough to spot the guilt she refused to wear on her face.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, coolly.

But her hands had stilled. No longer resting casually on the railing like a few moments ago. 

Soren shook his head with a hollow laugh.

"You left us there, Cecelia."

A pause. He was daring her to react. To acknowledge.

"You left me."

Cecelia looked him straight in the eye. She said nothing. Not because she had nothing to say but because to say anything at all would be to admit she knew exactly what he was talking about. 

He exhaled, chest rising like he was holding back years of words.

"You're not heartless. I know you. You've never been good at forgetting the people who hurt you."

He leaned in, just enough for his voice to lower.

"Join me. Let's finish what they started. Let's make that bastard regret ever laying hands on either of us."

For a moment, it looked like Cecelia might say nothing. But then slowly she took a step forward. Her heels clicked against the stone floor like a warning.

She reached up, delicately adjusting the lapel of his jacket, brushing imaginary dust from his collar with almost a loving expression.

Then her hand curled into the fabric at his chest and yanked him roughly toward her.

"I have left that life," she said, voice low and deadly, "and I have no intention of going back and if you keep trying..."

Her smile didn't reach her eyes.

"I know more than a hundred ways to make you die a miserable death."

Her fingers released him. Her expression was serene again, like she hadn't just threatened to destroy him. 

"Until next time, Silver flame of Vezhar."

Cecelia's hand was on the door handle when Soren called out. 

"Cecelia. Can you really sleep well at night knowing of all the evil you helped him commit?! Do you not see the faces of those innocent people in your dreams, haunting you?"

Cecelia stood frozen for a moment before she opened the door and left without looking back. 

"Ha.." Soren laughed to himself as he reached into his clothes to take out a cigarette and lighter, scratched, like it had survived things men weren't meant to. He lit the end with a flick, the flame briefly illuminating the shadowed angles of his face.

The ember glowed red as he took a slow drag, holding the smoke in his lungs like it might steady the war still raging quietly beneath his skin.

--------

"Madman...an absolute madman!" 

Margaret spotted her daughter in the crowd looking annoyed. She was chatting with a few noble ladies who were far more courteous than in the past and was soaking up all the boot-licking. 

"Cece! Come, come. Let me introduce you to some ladies."

Cecelia immediately put on the nicest smile she could muster and walked over, holding her skirt in one hand and waving with her other at the ladies her mother was talking with. 

Cecelia smiled tightly, her eyes scanning the group of noblewomen. They were draped in silks and jewels, their polite smiles sharp enough to cut through crystal.

"Ladies," Cecelia said smoothly, "it's a pleasure."

They murmured their greetings, nodding with just enough warmth to make her skin crawl.

Margaret, ever the social lioness, busied herself with a nearby conversation, her back turned but her eyes gleaming with satisfaction at having placed her daughter firmly in the circle or she thought. 

The minutes dragged, and Margaret eventually excused herself with a graceful curtsy, disappearing into the sea of guests.

The moment her mother was gone, the atmosphere shifted like a sudden chill.

One of the ladies, Lady Harcourt, flicked a glance at Cecelia's rings and whispered loud enough for only the group to hear, "Well, well, the little Whitmore has finally learned how to bargain."

Another smirked. "I suppose when you're desperate enough, selling yourself to the Marquess is a fair trade."

Cecelia's smile didn't waver, but her green eyes sharpened.

"Desperation," she repeated softly, "is a poor judge of character."

Lady Harcourt laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "Oh, dear, we all know what you are, no need to dress it up."

Lady Harcourt took steps towards Cecelia, breaking through her little comfort bubble. 

"Once the Sinclairs are out the mud, you will be discarded like yesterday's trash and when that happens, I will tear you to pieces. Limb by limb. You will pay for stealing my man."

"Omo." Cecelia covered her mouth in feigned surprise. "So you are targeting me because...your man left you? How pitiful...very pitiful indeed. My only advice is..."

Cecelia did as Lady Harcourt had done and broke through her comfort bubble. Lady Harcourt stumbled backwards but steadied herself by gripping tightly to a table nearby. 

"...be reincarnated into a richer family in your next life, ok?" Cecelia said in a mocking tone. She patted Lady Harcourt's shoulder and walked past to the dessert table.